


Checkmate

by keyflight790



Series: Checkmate [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-10-22 09:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17660276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: Ron is called to visit a club, but he'll soon find out what, or whom, truly brought him there.





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FangQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/gifts).



> FangQueen, I really hope you like what I did with your prompt. I hope it came out close to what you were hoping for? Big thanks to my beta @jeldnil, I really appreciate all your help with this!

_Discover your Destiny_ , the tiny card said, and Ron took another moment to examine the back, the front, the thin, papery sides, searching for a clue. A reason the thick navy blue parchment was on his desk when he returned from lunch.

He wondered if it was a new assignment, if Robards had placed it on his desk as evidence for one of his cases. Ron tried tapping the card with his wand, whispering incantations, watching for a change. It was during one of those murmured spells that a miniscule address appeared in the corner of the card.

 _790 Knockturn_. _8pm. Password: Knight_

Chess. It always came back to chess. To timing your moves, calculating your odds, thinking two steps ahead of your opponent. It’s what made him a great Auror. Where his partner, Harry, would just rush into action and deal with the consequences later, Ron would hang back, analyze, formulate a plan. It was Harry’s quick movements that gave him the time, but Ron’s ultimate decisions that would take down their prey, would annihilate their Queen.

He wondered if he should tell Harry. If this was a mission from Robards, he’d want his partner there. There was something different about this card that seemed utterly specific to Ron, however, so he tucked it in his robes and continued to work on processing the reports in front of him. He’d let Harry know tomorrow whatever he discovered tonight.

Leaving work early, Ron took time back at his flat to freshen up. He slipped a silver-edged knife into his standard-issued dragonhide boot, and tied another one to his flank. Ron was often overly-prepared. Spending a year on the run with Hermione and Harry taught him how to be ready for anything.

And ready for anything he was when he Accioed to the address on the card. He whispered his passcode, and suddenly a bright red door appeared in the otherwise dirty stone wall. _Destiny,_ the sign ascribed, and Ron wondered if it truly was, if he was meant to be at this door at this time, alone, with nothing but his robes and his knives.

The door opened heavily, as if testing that this was a journey he did, indeed, want to embark on. Ron stepped into the interior corridor, feeling the magical wards ripple with ease.

“Ah, Weasley,” a familiar voice welcomed him, and Ron could hear a bit of challenge at the sound of his surname.

“Zabini?” Ron’s voice ticked upward, recognizing his face instantly, even though it’d been years since their Hogwarts days. “What are you doing here?”

“More like what are _you_ doing here,” Blaise responded, a slight lift in his eyebrows. “ _Destiny_ has been in my family for centuries. It’s how mother met all of her husbands, Gods rest their souls.”

“And what exactly is this place?” Ron asked curiously. He was slowly concluding that this was indeed not a mission, and potentially a more personal matter. He was also acutely aware that only two people knew of his romantic tendencies, and he doubted neither Harry nor Hermione had ratted him out to the likes of a Slytherin.

“Well, it seems you’ve been summoned,” Zabini clapped his hands, obviously enjoying Ron’s sudden discomfort. “You must be an ideal candidate for one of our clients.”

“Candidate?” Ron didn’t enjoy that word, that feeling, reminding him too much of being Chosen, and therefore put up for slaughter.

“More like a partner, I suppose. Your perfect match is here, waiting behind room 102. That is, unless you’d like to back out?” Blaise looked at him, waiting for some kind of confirmation of consent. Ron nodded slightly, and Blaise beamed, shuffled some papers together and handed over a small magnetic card. “Now, if you’ll follow me,” he gestured over his shoulder.

Ron didn’t like following. It had gotten him in trouble in the past, with spiders and Horcruxes and Dark Lords. However, he also didn’t like backing down from a challenge, and it wasn’t much of a game if he didn’t know who his opponent was.

“When you say _ideal,_ do you mean,”

“Soulmate? If that’s how you’d like to consider it,” Zabini answered. “Although most soulmates only continue through clear, pureblood lines, and there are so few of those these days.”

A part of him knew that to be true, that the Soulmate bond had been bred out of most Wizarding families, but it still popped up occasionally. Specifically, in the case of his mother and father.

It was why most wizarding families were small, one, maybe two offspring. Ron supposed it could be from the war, but he also knew it was from the bond, producing more children the stronger the link. The stronger the soulmate.

Ron wanted a big family just like his own, but the chance of finding a partner, a _male_ partner, who was also into the dirty, kinky things that made him feel alive, was going to be more than difficult.

And it was this fact, and this fact alone, that made him follow a Slytherin down a long and winding hallway. The hope that _Destiny_ might actually introduce him to that perfect partner.

However, when Blaise finally opened the door to Room 102, all of his hopes were squashed for good..

“Malfoy,” his voice came out sharp, as he tried to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“Weasel,” Draco drawled out in that bloody disgusting accent of his before he shot a deadly glare at Zabini.

“Look, you know I have nothing to do with this,” Blaise backed out of the room. “Don’t AK the messenger, and try not to kill each other. I’d rather not scrape blood off of these walls,” he murmured as he closed the door with a snick.

The room was set up like a candlelight dinner, and Draco stood as Ron approached the tiny table for two. He sat at the empty place setting, still glaring at the blond across from him. Ron took the moment to survey him, seeing as he hadn’t seen Malfoy in years, hadn’t heard what he was up to. It was as if Draco had fallen off the face of the earth after school, after the trials, and Ron was suddenly curious as to how he had ended up, here, in this room.

Plus, he couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was fit. His hair was no longer greased back in perfect waves but was long, framing his face, softening the sharpness of his jaw. His eyes were a dusty grey, reminding Ron of the edges of the moon when he circled the pitch at night. His arms hinted at muscle, but not the rippling sort one might find at the gym. A hardened roll from a hard days’ work. Ron let his eyes trail across the light-blue button-down, wondering if those same muscles defined his stomach, if his thighs were soft or strong.

“So,” Ron said, reaching for a roll. “You’re my ideal partner, eh?” And if the whole thing didn’t seem like the biggest joke in the Wizarding World, Ron supposed he might be furious. As it were, he figured he’d get a free meal and be on his way.

“Must you always be eating, Weasley?” Draco asked with a sneer, his napkin placed formally in his lap and his silverware still secure in their homes on either side of his plate.

“Must you always be a poncy ferret?” Ron threw back, feeling like the game was on, the first move made. “Chicken’s pretty good, you should try it,” he added, stabbing the seasoned breast with his fork and cutting off a second bite.

They sat like that, Ron eating furiously and Draco sitting, spine ramrod straight, as he stared across the table. They both occasionally sipped at their glasses of wine and adjusted in their seats, but made no move to further their discussion.

That is, until Ron reached the bottom of his plate, his knife clattering against the porcelain bottom.

“Thought you were dating Parkinson,” Ron said rather than asked.

“Thought you were fucking Granger,” Draco said rather than answered, and Ron choked a little on his pinot. He supposed he should be happy he referred to Hermione as Granger rather than mudblood, but they had been over for so long, he had practically forgotten their brief kiss in the chamber followed by three solid months of lengthy discussion about _ruining friendships_ and _recovering from grief_.

“I’ve done my fair share of fucking, Malfoy, but never with a witch.”

“Interesting,” Draco raised his eyebrows. “Can’t say I’m surprised, all that time you spent up Potter’s arse.”

“And all that time you spent watching Harry’s arse,” Ron volleyed back, and yes, this was a game he could play, a game he would win.

Draco leaned back in his chair, surveying the ginger as if for the first time. “So have you had a taste of the Chosen One?” he asked, and Ron wondered if Draco still fancied Harry as much as he made it obvious back in school.

“He’s my brother-in-law, you prick.”

“Ah, so the famous Potter did shack up with the Weaselette after all,” Draco smirked and crossed his legs. “How vanilla.”

“Could we not talk about my sister and my best mate?” Ron asked, trying to steer away listening to more Potter-worship for the rest of the evening.

“Please,” Draco responded. “I’d rather not lose any more brain cells thinking about bloody Potter.”

With that Ron felt like he had made his move, the playing field wasn't even anymore, and he was still itching to play, still itching to win.

“So, Malfoy, what flavor would you categorize your love life?”

And Merlin, if he didn’t feel so stupid saying it like that, but the room, _Destiny_ , had brought them together, and they hadn’t killed each other yet, and Draco looked fit enough to eat.

“Certainly not vanilla, if that’s what you’re asking. I tend to have a rather exotic palette, and very few have been able to offer such delectable tastes.”

Malfoy had moved his bishop, and it was up to Ron to counter.

“I’ll bite,” Ron said, cocking his head slightly to the right. “What tastes might those be?”

“I doubt you’d be familiar,” Draco responded, his voice dripping with disdain.

Ron took a calculated risk, but one, that if he was right, was sure to pay off.

“The taste of heated flesh from the palm of a hand?” Ron’s own hand twitched, and he saw Draco’s eyes dart to it. _Check._

He decided to continue. It would be well worth the reward.

“The feel of thick leather along your skin, teasing, taunting you?” His pulse was rising, and he was drumming his fingers along the length of the table, smiling slightly at how enraptured Draco’s attention was to them.

“Do you like to get on your knees, pet? Have a long, hard cock shoved down your throat, hands tied behind your back, purely at someone else’s mercy?” And Ron didn’t need a response. He could see the answer in Draco’s widened stare, in the way his chest was rising and falling.

Ron flicked his wand, Vanishing the candles and the silverware and the table, exposing Draco in his chair, knuckles white as they clenched the armrests.

“Get on your knees,” Ron commanded, spreading his thighs.

“Fuck you, Weasel,” Draco stood, wand at the ready. “I will not pander to the likes of you.”

“Oh, but you want to, don’t you Malfoy? Always wanting to please?”

 _Steleus!_ Draco shouted as he twisted his wrist.

The spell hit Ron directly in the chest, causing little ripples that felt like feathers tickling across his nose. He sneezed, then sneezed again, and wiped his hands on the side of his robe.

“Really, Malfoy? A child’s hex? You never did have any bite.”

“I fucking Crucio’d people, you son of a bitch,” Draco spat, lining up his wand for another spell.

A bolt of gold shot out from the end of Malfoy’s wand. Ron felt the impact on his leg, his muscles were turning to mush. He transferred his weight to the other side, and kept talking.

“Yeah, sure mate. Not like you didn’t have a wand to your head to do all those bloody things.” Ron could feel the spell wearing off on his thigh, and he repositioned his weight on both feet. “Why don’t we handle this like real men.”

“No way am I dueling an Auror in Ministry territory,” Draco was still gripping onto his wand, holding it at the ready.

“Not a duel. A fight, Malfoy, a real fight. With fists, not sticks.”

“You want me to punch you?” Draco asked, his voice wavering slightly.

“If you think you can,” Ron winked, dropping his wand and letting it roll to the side of the room. He widened his stance, lifting his hands and balling them into fists. It wasn’t the most strategic move, but he knew it would be the one to rile Malfoy up the most.

And it did. Draco charged at Ron, fists up, swinging wildly in front of his face. Ron just waited until Draco was close enough, and circled his strong arms around Draco’s neck, twisting him so his back was secure against Ron’s chest.

“First thing we learned in training. Patience is key.” Ron took a moment to roll his hips along Draco’s backside, letting him feel the weight of his cock through his trousers. Ron was hung, and he knew it, had been told by enough past lovers how big, how thick he was.

“Merlin, Weasel, what the bloody hell are you packing back there?” Draco panted, arm still secure around his neck as he dug fingers into Ron’s bicep to no avail.

“Would you like to see it? I know you have a proclivity for snakes.”

“Last time I saw one, Longbottom was chopping its head off, so unless you want me to do that to you,” Draco sneered, and finally managed to loosen Ron’s arm. He swung around and tried to punch Ron in the face.

Ron swerved easily, and grabbed Draco by the wrist, bending his arm backward and pushing down so that Draco was forced into a kneeling position.

“I knew I’d get you on your knees,” Ron grinned. “You barely touched your dinner.”

Draco was trying to push himself off the floor, but Ron had his other hand on his shoulder, holding him down. “So?” he spat.

“So, you must still be hungry. Gonna feed you my cock, Ferret.”

“No way am I touching that thing,” Draco said, but his eyes were fixated on the tent in Ron’s trousers. Ron waited patiently until he saw what he was looking for, and eventually, he saw it.

Draco licked his lips.

Ron released Draco’s arm, but kept one hand securely on his shoulder as he began to unzip his trousers. He let them drop to the floor and pool around his ankles. His cock was hard, straining against the black fabric of his pants, and he pulled at the elastic, tucking it under his bollocks.

A gasp reverberated at the sight of Ron’s cock, and Ron couldn’t help but smile softly at the blond man who was staring at it hungrily.

He sat back down on his chair and spread his legs.

“Open your mouth.” Ron was using the voice he often used in the field, the one that came across strong and commanding and fierce. It held the desired effect; Draco’s eyes went wide like saucers at his tone, but his jaw didn’t budge.

“Gonna make you be good for me,” Ron said, and he slapped Draco lightly on the cheek. “Don’t you want to be good, Draco?”

Draco shook his head, glaring up at Ron from the ground, but Ron saw the twitch in his cock. He knew this was what Draco wanted, what he wanted, and he didn’t mind that Draco was putting up a little fight along the way.

“Open,” Ron commanded again, and this time he brought the tip of his cock to Draco’s lips, prodding against the soft tissue. “All you’re good for is taking my cock, isn’t that right?” He pulled lightly at the bottom of his jaw, and Draco allowed it to drop slightly, almost invitingly.

Ron took advantage and sunk his cock down Draco’s throat, melting into the hot heat. He wrapped his hands around the back of Draco’s head and pulled, forcing him to take more of his hard length.

The tip of Ron’s cock hit the back of Draco’s mouth and he gagged slightly, but instead of responding with the sharp bite of teeth, Ron was instead rewarded with the wet lick of his inviting tongue, as it swirled around his prick.

“That’s a good boy,” Ron said, his voice husky, and he saw Draco’s eyes roll back, his lashes flutter with Ron’s praise.

Ron pulled himself out to the tip, and then slammed his cock back in to Draco’s willing mouth, taking control, setting the pace. He could see little droplets of drool escaping Draco’s lips, and he grinned, loving the feeling of Draco’s warm mouth around his hot need.

He threaded his fingers through Draco’s hair, pulling at the roots as Draco continued to work his jaw in steady movements, his cheeks flushed, his eyes rolled back into his skull. Ron was all to familiar with that look, the clear submission, the clear ecstasy and Ron used his body for what he wanted.

He wanted more. Not that the sight of Draco on his knees wasn’t breathtaking, but if his mouth was this sweet, Ron couldn’t even imagine how sweet it would be to bury himself in his tight, little hole.

“Stand up,” he commanded, and he grinned at the speed at which Draco responded, releasing Ron’s cock from his mouth and pressing back on his heels. He stood, albeit a little shaky, in front of Ron, all limbs and pale skin. The sight made Ron’s mouth water.

“Put your hands against the wall,” He murmured, but Draco heard. He rushed over to the wall, placing his hands on the solid surface, and spread his legs.

“Eager, are we pup?” Ron Vanished the entirety of his clothes, and snapped his wand in Draco’s direction, doing the same. He saw the way Draco’s knees bent, the goosebumps spreading along his arms at his newfound nakedness. Ron took a moment and let his eyes wander over his thin frame, his luscious backside.

Something about that arse enticed him, made him feel hungry in a way he normally didn’t with his other subs. Usually he would use lube, or a spell, to prep his lovers, but tonight was different. The club had chosen him, matched him with Draco, and Ron wanted to make it special, something they could remember for a long time.

He ran a cleansing charm over Draco’s skin and bent down, spreading his cheeks. Draco mewled, sticking his greedy arse back, inviting, teasing.

Ron grinned and dived in, his tongue licking a fat stripe across Draco’s needy hole. He heard the blond moan, and Ron wanted desperately to hear it again.

He dug the pads of his fingers into the soft flesh of Draco’s backside and spread, clearing his path, opening him up. Ron delved in, all tongue, licking, biting, prodding, his cock twitching with every whine that escaped Draco’s throat.

Casting a lubrication charm, Ron added in a finger, teasing Draco, relishing in the feeling of opening him up, of watching him buck against the wall, wanting more. Wanting more of Ron and his hands and his mouth.

Ron fondled his bollocks, his own cock rock hard and dripping on the floor, and he knew he wanted him, wanted Draco. He wanted to fill him up, to hear those sounds, to hear that want dripping from his throat.

“Want me to fuck you, baby?” he stood and mouthed into Draco’s neck. He could feel Draco nod, his head bobbing back and forth eagerly. Ron bit down, hard enough to leave an imprint of teeth, into Draco’s shoulderblade and he felt the man shudder beneath his mouth. He licked over the spot and pulled back, gripping Draco’s hips with his fists.

“Gonna fuck you so well, pet,” Ron said, loud, forcefully, and Draco angled his hips backwards in needy response. For a moment, he thought about touching Draco’s own needy prick, hanging between his legs, desperate and red and throbbing.

He shook his head, forcing himself to stay on task. A sub hadn’t gotten under his skin for quite some time, for some reason Ron wanted to _please_ him. He was losing control. Over a fucking Ferret.

Ron grappled for his cock, relishing the cool feeling of lubricant across his hot member, and he lined up, pressing himself into Draco. He shivered in response when he breached the first ring, the tip of his cock entering stubborn git, the one who had somehow laid down his defences and let a Weasley fuck him. Dominate him.

“You like that, don’t you Malfoy?” his voice was breathy as he tried to resist thrusting too quickly, delving into his hot depth too soon. He already didn’t want this night to end, and he certainly didn’t want to be the one to stop it so soon.

Ron didn’t know if Draco would answer, if he could admit to finding pleasure in Ron’s cock, in Ron’s hands against his skin, in Ron’s mouth on his neck and his back and the soft spot between his shoulders.

But Draco surprised him when he moaned back. “Yes,” his voice yearning and throaty from where Ron had rammed his cock down it.

Ron inched himself forward, slowly, savouring the heat, the way Draco’s walls were tight around his prick, the way his skin blushed and his back arched, inviting, welcoming him.

He slid in to the hilt and stilled, waiting for Draco to adapt to his girth, to the feel of him inside of his most sensitive core, and soon Draco was nodding, his back arching even more, begging Ron to move.

“Move, Weasel.” And there was also that, the direct command from his sub, and a part of Ron wanted to let it go, to let Draco have this moment. But the other part yearned to correct his needy behaviour.

He smacked Draco across the arse, feeling the pulse against his cock as it reverberated against his skin. Draco yelped in surprise, and Ron smacked him again, a warning, a punishment, an invitation for what was to come.

Ron pulled back and thrusted in, hard, his cock pulsing within Draco, and yes, this was perfect. His hard rod fucking Malfoy, and Malfoy taking it, bucking back into it with every thrust.

They established a rhythm, Draco keening, his cock dripping onto the floor. Ron refused to touch it, not until he knew Draco could be a good boy, the best boy, the perfect boy for him.

A part of him already knew this was the best sex he had already had, that fucking Draco felt right, that he had never been more turned on to sink into someones flesh as he had been tonight.

His rhythm faltered, his thrusts coming harder and faster, and he smacked across Draco’s arse, just to remind him, to remind them both, who was in charge. His bollocks were tightening and Draco was moaning and writhing and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was crossing his precipice and -

“Fuck, I want to,” Draco’s voice was pinched, as though he was holding on, desperately clutching onto Ron’s hips as he drove forward into his channel.

“Not yet.” Ron adjusted his hips so that his cock was angled just right, taunting Draco’s sensitive prostate with every shallow thrust, driving him closer and closer to the edge. He wanted to see if Draco could hold out and be his good boy, maybe for more than just this night.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the words slipped from Draco’s mouth.

“That’s what I’m doing,” Ron laughed breathily, his lips grazing the back of Draco’s skin. He could feel Draco shudder, his body tight and tense as he held on.

Ron wanted him to let go.

“Come,” he murmured, wrapping his firm hand around Draco’s angry red cock, and the response was instant. Draco clamped down on him and bucked into his hand, coating Ron’s fingers with hot strips of white as he crashed over the edge.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” he continued to pant as his cock pulsed in Ron’s hand, his entire body shaking with his release. Ron could only hold on as the sensation of Draco coming undone brought him right to his peak.

“Yes, oh gods, yes, pet,” he plunged into Draco’s heat once, twice more, gripping tight on his hips, and he was coming. He wondered for a moment if the tips of his nails would leave marks, bruises on Draco’s delicate skin, and that only made him dig in harder. He wanted Draco to remember this, their night together for as long as he could.

Panting, he pulled out of Draco with a slick slide. Draco’s knees buckled slightly, and Ron hurried to fasten his hands under Draco’s arms, holding him up, pinning him again to the sturdy wall.

“You okay?” Ron asked gently, listening for Draco’s breathing to steady.

“Yes,” Draco responded, and he pushed back against the wall, steadying himself on his heels.

“Brilliant,” Ron nodded. “That whole thing was...brilliant.”

“Poetic as usual,” Draco smirked as he sat back down on his dining chair, sated, his cock returning to a soft pink.

“Oh, and _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , was it Byron or Keats who wrote that?”

“Sod off, Weasel,” Draco spat, although it clearly did not carry as much challenge as it had before.

“I don’t think I will,” Ron crossed his arms. “I might just keep you. Wouldn’t mind a new pet. My last one was shite.”

“My left nut makes a better pet than Pettigrew.”

“Your right one’s not that bad either,” Ron winked. “Think you could be a good pet for me, Draco?”

“I refuse to be on a leash for a Weasley.”

“What about a collar?” Ron stepped closer and kneeled, positioning himself between Draco’s thighs. “Not all the time. The rest of the time we could be…”

“Boyfriends? Please.”

“Friends. I wouldn’t mind being your friend, and the rest we can keep to ourselves.”

Draco stared into Ron’s eyes, daring him to admit it was all a joke. Ron waited, patiently, ensuring Draco that it wasn’t. His relationships weren’t anything he ever joked about.

“Maybe,” Draco finally answered. “But don’t call me Ferret.”

“Don’t call me Weasel, then.”

“Fine,” Draco nodded, and Ron reached up to place the softest kiss on his lips.

_Checkmate._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to show your appreciation for the author via kudos/comments below. ♥
> 
> This story is part of Ron/Draco Fest 2019, a currently ongoing anonymous fest. The author will be revealed in late March.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Swallow it down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19698460) by [keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790)




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